


No River Shall Save You

by TheSilverViolin



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Angst, Character Death, M/M, Misunderstandings, Romance, There is fluff mixed in to everything else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:24:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3403718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverViolin/pseuds/TheSilverViolin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo hadn't noticed at first, but as their journey progressed, he began to realize that Thorin and a few of the other dwarves had a peculiar aversion to touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No River Shall Save You

**Author's Note:**

> Here I go, my first fic for The Hobbit! I've had the idea for this AU for about a month now, and I've just gotten around to finally writing it. I hope everyone enjoys! :)

Bilbo prided himself on his attentiveness. He had noticed immediately when Lobelia Sackville-Baggins tried to make off with his silverware and it had taken him no less than five minutes to figure out that his neighbor was expecting last winter. So he felt rather cross with himself when it took him more than a week to notice some of the dwarves aversion to touch. Bilbo could excuse himself for not noticing on the first day; There had been thirteen dwarves running amok his home, raiding his pantry and singing songs of dragons and the like. He really couldn't have been expected to notice that some of the unwelcome guests wore gloves and long sleeved coats no matter how much the fire breathed warmth into the room. However as time passed, Bilbo really should taken notice of how three of the dwarves, Thorin, Fíli and Kíli, refused to touch another's skin without a barrier of leather and fur. It was only when the company was camped out in a cave, the distant cry of wargs as the night's only song, did Bilbo really start to take notice of the odd habit of the dwarves.

 

“You cannot sleep there,” Thorin said brusquely, not even bothering to glance at Bilbo as he ran a whetstone over his blade.

 

Looking up from where he was laying out his sleeping pack, the Hobbit did not say anything for a moment and instead glanced around to see if Thorin was referring to him. He didn't see anything wrong with where he was situated. It was right between one of the walls of the cave and Fíli's own bedroll. Really, the only problem was that Thorin was situated right near where Bilbo's feet were going to be. In his opinion, the farther away he was from that particular dwarf, the better. However, Bilbo would put up with the close proximity if only for the comfort that sleeping surrounded by others provided. So far in their journey, Bilbo had been perfectly content to lay at the very edges of where the fire crept and far from the company of the dwarves. However on that night, with tales of orcs and dragons in his mind and bellows of distant beasts in his ear, Bilbo did not want to lie wayside at the mouth of the cave for any creature lurking by to snatch up.

 

Apparently, Bilbo had taken to long to respond for Thorin repeated his words. “You cannot sleep there. You need to move somewhere else.”

 

“Excuse me?” Bilbo asked, his tone half that of someone unsure they had heard correctly and the other half of someone who knew _exactly_ what had been said and was just simply giving a chance for the words to be taken back.

 

Thorin finally looked at Bilbo, but the Hobbit did not shrink back at his glare. Thinking back, Bilbo would attribute the backbone he grew in those few moments to the fact that he was rather tired and cold and already quite fed up with dwarves.

 

Their staring contest could of have lasted far longer if not for a sudden hand on Bilbo's shoulder that made him jump. When he looked up, the face of Balin greeted him.

 

“Come on, laddie,” He said, patting Bilbo's shoulder. “This cave's plenty big enough for all of us.”

 

There was an unspoken meaning to the old dwarf's words which Bilbo still heard loud and clear.  _You need to move._ A glance around proved that the rest of the company agreed. Twelve pairs of eyes were pointedly elsewhere, their hands occupied with irrelevant things. No was going to stand up for the hobbit.

 

Bilbo huffed. “Well then.” Gathering up his bedroll and making sure not to drop any of his remaining dignity, he shuffled over to a desolate corner of the cave far from any dwarves. He decidedly felt the same as when he was a fauntling clutching at his blankets and trying to climb into his parents bed only to be sent back to his own room after being told he was too old to be doing such childish things. At least then he had understood why he was being sent away, with the dwarves their was no reasoning he could see. They just did not want him near them. 

 

Bilbo did not sleep that night.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Ori had been scribbling and sketching in his book since the very moment their journey had begun. When Bilbo asked him about it one night, the young dwarf had smiled and said that he was documenting their quest so all would know of their deeds when they reclaimed the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo had not commented on the fact that Ori used 'when' instead of 'if '. However, the hobbit now feared that Ori's book would have a rather lackluster ending. It most certainly would not be good if their grand adventure ended with, “And on their way to defeat a dragon and reclaim a mountain, the entire company was eaten by trolls”. It also would most certainly not be good if in parenthesis it had to be put that the entire situation with the trolls was in some part Bilbo's fault.

 

Encased in a burlap sack and heaped on top of a pile of squirming dwarfs, Bilbo regretted ever opening his door, maybe even meeting Gandalf in the first place. If that old wizard had never gotten the notion in his greying head that Bilbo had some desperate need for an adventure, he would be back in the Shire with a full stomach and a warm blanket, not food for someone else's stomach and a burlap sack. However, regrets were as helpful as the bags that trapped them and he was going to have to get rid of both to continue on.

 

Just as thoughts of escapes and diversions and tricks began forming themselves in Bilbo's mind, Thorin decided it was time to end it.

 

“You are all spineless dogs,” Thorin yelled, his intimidating glare not quelled by the fact that only his head and neck was visible from the sack. “I know mere children more dangerous than you all combined.”

 

Bilbo did not know who was more surprised at Thorin's words, himself or the trolls.

 

“What he say?” One troll asked, taking time to stop spinning the dwarves on the spit to scratch his head.

 

“If your skull is to filled with slugs to hear me, I shall repeat my words.” He snarled, emphasizing the word slug with such a flourish that Bilbo was sure that had he been nearer, he could of felt the spit fly from the dwarf’s tongue. “You are all weak, pathetic excuses for trolls. I would bet that you could not even manage to get a hand around my neck without aid.”

 

The trolls, evidently, took this bet rather seriously for one abandoned the fire all together and began to lug his hulking mass over to where Thorin lay. “Is that so? Well then let's see, little dwarf.” Lumbering over, the troll reached down to where Thorin was presenting his exposed neck as if it was a gift. Bilbo had no idea what Thorin was getting at. If he was trying to be a distraction, then getting himself killed was without a doubt the worst distraction he could have possibly conceived.

 

Just as the troll's meaty fingers were about to wrap around the dwarves neck, the rest of the company quiet in anticipation, Bilbo yelled out. “Wait, wait, stop! Don't touch him!”

 

The beast turned around in what by troll standards would constitute as a whirl, but in actuality was a more of a lugging of meat and fat and bones from one point to another. All in all, not very fast but threatening all the same. Eyeing Bilbo, the troll mumbled out a question around the bulk of it's tongue. “What're you going on 'bout?”

 

“You can't touch him. He, he . . . He is diseased.”

 

In a strange turn of events, it was Thorin himself who protested. “Do not listen to the halfling. He knows not of which he speaks.”

 

If Bilbo had not been contained like a bundle of potatoes, he most certainly would have made motions with his hands like someone who swats at flies during the heat of summer, in some poor attempt to ask Thorin just what exactly he thought he was doing. However, since he was so occupied, the hobbit went with simply putting on the most confused yet angry face he could. “Oh, I know of what I speak. That dwarf there is diseased.” Nodding to where Thorin lay, Bilbo tried to keep himself from trembling. He did not succeed. “Caught a nasty bout of plague. Terrible, awful thing really, it's probably spread to the rest of them by now. One touch and you can be sure that within the week you'll be covered in boils and oozing like nothing else. I wouldn't risk it.”

 

Still looming over the pile of dwarfs, the troll looked between the hobbit and dwarf with a lethargic turn of his head and a dumbfounded look smeared across his face. “Well if this one's diseased, why don't he ooze?”

 

With a smack to the head, one of the other trolls knocked the first one back a few steps. “You idiot,” He bellowed. “He ain't oozing cause he ain't sick. That little one is trying to trick us”

 

Bilbo had no idea how long the ordeal could have gone for. Maybe the trolls would have argued over the validity of the dwarves illness until they all just died from hunger. Maybe they would have just gotten it over with and eaten all fourteen of them right there and then. Luckily, they never had to find out for with a single crack of a rock, a burst of morning sun and an overdramatic yell of “The dawn will take you all”, which Bilbo was sure wasn't necessary in the slightest, all three trolls turned to solid stone, frozen where they stood and forever screaming

 

Afterwards as they plundered the troll's cave, Bilbo wanted to ask Thorin just exactly what his plan had been by nearly sacrificing himself to trolls. However, he did not get the chance. The appearance of towering orcs riding atop wargs did not leave much room for questions, just lots and lots of running.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Walking around Rivendell, Bilbo nearly forgot to talk to Thorin about the trolls incident. There was something so enticing about keeping his head turned up towards the elvish architecture and most certainly not thinking about how Thorin literally dared a troll to strangle him. The towers of the elves seemed to stretch up and kiss the very edges of the sky and the water ran so clear that besides when the river dipped over ledges and turned into a fine froth, the pebbled bottom could be seen at all times. The city was beautiful in a way that Bilbo had not witnessed. However, this was not to say that his love of Rivendell surpassed his love of the Shire in any way. Yes, the sound of harps and celestial voices drifting around pillars and under arches was a melody that Bilbo could not get enough of, but still, he yearned for the playful laughter of the young hobbits as they stole across grassy knolls and corn fields.

 

As he turned another corner, Bilbo did not care that he was delving further and further into Rivendell and in fact had no idea where he was. It was simply nice to stroll around and take in the music of the harps. Listening to the strum of the instruments, the hobbit was slowly drawn to the conclusion that there was something different about the harp he listened to. It seemed deeper somehow, heartier. It's tune less airy and wandering and instead had a set destination and rhythm. Only when Bilbo rounded another corner did he spy where the discrepancy was coming from.

 

Thorin was running tanned fingers over the strings of his harp, humming slightly to each chord. At some points he would break in with a few words of what Bilbo could only assume was the language of the dwarves.

 

Now Bilbo had always been taught that is was rude to stare, especially when the subject of your attention was unaware that they had ensnared your eye. However, Bilbo could not force himself to look away. Thorin ran his hands over the instrument with the same ease and flow as the river which babbled nearby. Watching as powerful muscles that had wielded swords with ease also pluck melodious chords, Bilbo's face lit up red and hot for reasons he did not fancy looking into. If not for Thorin happening to glance up at him, Bilbo was sure he could of stayed in the city of the elves listening to him play til well past the end of the third age.

 

“Why do stand in the shadows like a common thief?” Thorin asked gruffly, setting aside his harp as he did so.

 

Bilbo let out an indignant huff and all thoughts of spending any amount of time in the company of Thorin Oakensheild became the last thing on his mind. “I was wandering about and I happened by,” He said with a cross of his arms, pointedly ignoring the topic of why he did not announce his presence earlier. “Anyway-” With a quick stride over to where Thorin sat, Bilbo pointed a finger accusingly at the dwarven king. “You certainly can't complain of me being like a thief when it was you who hired me as one in the first place!”

 

Thorin did not reply, only began to put his gloves on. That was when Bilbo saw it.

 

“You have a rash.” He observed rather bluntly. It was right there on Thorin's hand, an angry patch of red which had begun to blister. “You probably brushed your hand against a poisonous plant,” Bilbo said knowingly, reverting back to his times in the Shire when he would help out the fauntlings that had encountered a nasty batch of poison ivy. “Hobbits are rather good with plants. Here let me see-”

 

“No!” Thorin cut off, bringing his hand as far away from Bilbo as possible. “Do not touch me.”

 

The hobbit blinked once, twice, three times and then put his hands on his hips. Now he remembered quite clearly what he needed to speak to Thorin about. “Oh, so when I only wish to help, I am allowed nowhere near you. However when a troll wishes to eat you, beard and all, you offer up your neck without hesitation?” He knew his voice was nearing a yell and that without a doubt the company and any elves nearby would be able to hear him. However, Bilbo did particularly care.

 

Thorin was silent as he stood up, grabbed his harp and put his gloves on. Walking away, the Thorin did not spare a single glance at Bilbo.

 

Stubborn dwarf.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It did not take long for the issue concerning the gloves to pop up again. Unfortunately for Bilbo, it came up at the most inopportune moment.

 

He was dangling off the edge of a cliff face, feet scrambling to find purchase on the slippery and crumbling stone. It was only when he heard a shout of, “Where's Bilbo?” was he even sure that the other members of the company had not forgotten him.

 

Looking up through the rain, Bilbo saw the faces of thirteen dwarves looking right back down at him. Dwalin reached down to grab his hand, but this only succeeded in driving Bilbo further down the cliff. Only a few seconds had passed when Bilbo began to slip once more. Clawing at the rock in some feeble attempt to latch onto to the jagged bits of stone, Bilbo's mind began to cloud with panic. He was slipping. He was going to fall. He was going to land at the bottom of the chasm. He was going to become just a spot on the ground. He was never going to see his books or home again. He was going to die.

 

At first, Bilbo did not register what was occurring above him. It was only with the sudden presence of a hand in front of his face did the hobbit snap out of it. Thorin had leapt down and was standing precariously on a bit rock jutting out from the cliff side. “Take my hand,” Thorin shouted over the roar of the storm and the blood pounding in Bilbo's ears.

 

Not needing any more incentive, Bilbo reached up and latched onto Thorin's hand. Or at least he attempted to. Every time he tried grasping the offered hand, his own slipped right through Thorin's grasp. “Take off your glove!” Bilbo managed to get out despite the water pelting him in the face. “It's too slippery! I can't get a grip.”

 

However, instead of taking the glove off, Thorin gazed at Bilbo with a look he could not decipher.

 

“I cannot.”

 

With just a simple phrase, Bilbo nearly lost his grasp on the mountain right there and then. It is possible that he actually would have fallen if not for the firm hand that latched onto Bilbo's collar. Hoisted up with little thought to decorum, the hobbit let not a single breath escape him until he was deposited back on the ground. In all honesty, the first thing that came out of Bilbo's mouth once he was out of danger was not a phrase of gratitude. It was but a faint whisper, no louder than a intake of air, but the entire company heard it all the same. “Why wouldn't you take off your glove?”

 

Despite the wind and roaring rain, silence seemed to overtake the mountain.

 

In some attempt to cut through the deadly quiet that had fallen on the company, Dwalin pipped in from the side, “I thought we'd lost our burglar.”

 

The effort to end the awkwardness might have been better received if not for a certain dwarf tacking on unnecessary comments. “He's been lost ever since he left home,” Thorin added, whatever look he had given Bilbo before removed and replaced with something entirely less friendly. “He should never have come. He has no place amongst us.”

 

Bilbo became eerily silent for the rest of their journey to find shelter. Although Thorin's words of how he did not belong stung with a bitter truth that felt far worse than the rain and wind smacking his face, it was just two words that caused Bilbo's eyes to grow slightly wet from things besides the storm.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The goblins had been terrible. The creature in the caves with it's large eyes which shined in the damp darkness and pale skin that stretched taut over bone had been truly awful. The orcs were worse than the previous two combined. At the moment, they were all up in trees. Trees which were being knocked down. Trees which were also slowly catching fire. Bilbo had the choice between burning alive, falling off the cliff or being killed by orcs. All in all, not very favorable outcomes for any option.

 

However, the most horrifying sight, the thing which surpassed all others in it's terror, was the sight of Thorin approaching Azog the Defiler with no more than a sword and branch in hand. As Thorin ran towards the orc with an ferocity unrivaled, Azog raised his hands to his sides as if to say, come and get me. He wanted a show.

 

Thorin charged. Azog waited. Thorin yelled. Azog leaped. Sword tried to clash against flesh but to no avail. Bilbo felt helpless as he clutched to the tree, only being able to watch as the dwarves slowly slipped from their branches and Thorin battled with the pale orc.

 

Thorin had to win, Bilbo thought. He just had to. There was no way Thorin Oakensheild was going to die before they even saw the mountain. It just couldn't happen. So it was with a certain denial that Bilbo watched as Azog's mace swung into Thorin's head. Although Bilbo could not see the blood from where he sat among the smoke, he knew it to be there and he knew of the agony which would accompany it. Then, when the warg picked up Thorin between it's teeth and crushed his bones with it's jaw, the screams of the entire company rang high on mountain.

 

Thrown over to the side, Thorin tried again and again to stand up, to fight. However, a blow from a war mace was no light hit and any attempts to get up were met with a fall to the ground. The pale orc said something, something that Bilbo could not understand but feared all the same. He was justified in fearing the words of Azog, for one orc began to walk over to where Thorin lay defenseless and Bilbo easily guessed upon what had been said. Marking where it's sword would fall on Thorin's neck, the orc raised it's weapon high in such a causally slow manner that it seemed to be taunting the dwarf. It nearly broke Bilbo's heart to watch as Thorin kept trying to grab at his sword just out of reach. There was also another level of heartbreak when he remembered the story of the demise of Thorin's grandfather and now here Thorin himself was, desperately trying to avoid the same fate.

 

Bilbo did not remember standing up. Nor did he remember unsheathing his sword. However, for the rest of his life he would remember knocking into the orc just as it's sword had been brought to it's peak. The feeling of his own sword sliding through the orc's flesh would not be a memory he would forget.

 

The rest of the fight seemed to go by in a blur. There were dwarves and orcs and swords and blood and Bilbo just could not keep up with it all. However, there was one event in the battle, one scene that stuck out that Bilbo could not explain. At first he thought it might have been a trick of the light for with the embers and smoke and panic which danced in the air, many things could have been seen that were not truly there.

 

As the fight went on, one of the orc's was battling with Fíli. Unfortunately for the orc and rather fortunately for Fíli, the orc backed up a tad bit to close to where Thorin lay unconscious, or more accurately, where everyone thought Thorin lay unconscious. For when the orc ventured near the dwarf, a shaky hand reached out and brushed against the orc's exposed ankle. It happened in less than a second. A mere blink really and then it happened.

 

The orc turned to gold.

 

Well, Bilbo thought, that sure explained a lot.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

If it hadn't been for the stairs built into the side of the Carrock, Bilbo would have demanded that the eagles come back immediately and place them somewhere more appropriate, because honestly, a giant outcropping of stone which one could easily fall off of is most certainly not the ideal place for anyone, especially an injured dwarf.

 

The injured dwarf in question was not moving. Barely even breathing, he was just lying on the rock as the sun rose behind him. Gandalf rushed over to him but Bilbo dared not get to close. He feared that any nearer he would realize that the shallow up and down movement of Thorin's chest was just a trick of the eye and that Thorin had already passed. From a distance, Bilbo watched as the wizard hovered his hand over Thorin's blank face. He did not touch any exposed skin and Bilbo could not blame him in the slightest, the image of the golden orc at the forefront of his memory.

 

With a breath, Thorin opened his eyes and muttered out something that Bilbo was sure he had misheard. “The halfling?”

 

Gandalf chuckled and began to assure Thorin of Bilbo's safety. This in fact made the hobbit want to cry out. Bilbo was not the one who had been crushed by a warg or struck with a mace, there was no need for Thorin to be concerned for Bilbo's safety!

 

With the help of a few of the other dwarfs, Thorin managed to stand. Bilbo was not sure whether to applaud his ability to recover so quickly or chide him for moving at all when he really should be resting. Either way, Bilbo smiled and breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“You!” Thorin bit out, his tone harsh and unexpected. “What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!” The rest of the company all had matching faces of confusion at Thorin's words and Bilbo knew he was no exception. He had thought . . . Well he had thought that after everything, Thorin would have grown to like him, in the same way Bilbo had done for Thorin. Despite all that had occured, Bilbo did care for Thorin and the fact that here he was berating him like some foolish fauntling was hurtful in a way that he had not experienced in a while. “You nearly got yourself killed.” Thorin breathed out heavily. “Did I not say you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?” At each question, Bilbo faltered back a few steps and felt his throat bob with emotions he dared not utter. He refused to let himself cry, but just incase, he kept his eyes downcast away from Thorin. The King obviously thought so little of him. To see him cry would just further his feelings. Thorin paused and Bilbo readied himself for more crushing words. “I have never been so wrong, in all my life.” With that, Thorin surged forward and encircled Bilbo in a hug. For only a second did he hesitate before hugging Thorin right back.

 

Although Bilbo could feel Thorin restraining himself in an attempt to keep their skin from touching, Bilbo really couldn't care. To be in Thorin's embrace was all he needed right then.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“So,” Bilbo began, pouring some tea into Thorin's cup as he did so. Seeing as they were in Beorn's house, the cups seemed to hold enough liquid to keep a small party content and the pot itself looked better equipped for cooking soup. Nevertheless, the rather large amenities were better than no amenities at all “Are we going to discuss how you can turn things into gold?”

 

To be fair, Thorin still looked very regal as he sputtered and turned red.

 

“Is that a yes?”

 

Once Thorin had regained himself, he looked at Bilbo with an odd sort of embarrassment that seemed so foreign on his face. “It is not something I am overly fond of discussing,” He said, avoiding eye contact. Which was a shame really, seeing as Thorin's eyes were a magnificent shade of blue which far out rivaled the hyacinths of Bilbo's garden. However, the hobbit wasn't going to reveal that little piece of information to anyone in any foreseeable future, thank you very much. “But for you, Master Baggins, I shall put aside my feelings of discomfort, for I owe you far more than an explanation.”

 

It was then, in the comfort and quiet of Beorn's home, with the rest of the company off lying in rest, did Bilbo get to hear the tale of the curse of Thrór.

 

“When I had to yet to enter this world and my father before me was still small, my grandfather Thrór, disappeared into the north on an adventure of unknown destination and end. When he returned, my grandfather had brought with him great wealth but at a terrible cost. For when his skin touched anything of flesh and blood, it would hence become gold for all of time.” As Thorin spoke, Bilbo dared not move. He thought that any motion would scare away Thorin like a startled elk in the woods. If he must, Bilbo knew he would of stayed unmoving by the dwarf's side til dusk had turned to dawn a thousand times. “No longer could he lay a kiss upon his wife's lips or ruffle his child's hair. Thrór was cursed to forever live a life of void of touch unless he wished to see those he loved turned to gold before his very eyes. Despite this, my grandfather refused to tell anyone of where he obtained his power. Whether this was to prevent other's from following in his wake out of protection or to hoard the gift to himself, I know not.”

 

Thorin sighed and there was so much unsaid hurt in such a simple action that if he could of, Bilbo would have reached across the table to lay a reassuring hand on Thorin's own.

 

“Things became far worse when dragon sickness plagued my grandfather,” Thorin explained. “He became obsessed with gold, so obsessed that only the arkenstone rivaled it's allure. Whispers floated around Erebor that hidden in the treasuries, there were statues of pure gold whose faces were frozen in screams, who were so detailed that even the most skilled of craftsmen could not have come close to their precision. Although I never saw the supposed statues, it could not be ignored that at times prison cells once filled with petty criminals would mysteriously become empty with no reason or explanation to be found, or that travelers would simply disappear near our borders.” Thorin paused and his fingers gripped at his mug in a dangerous fashion. “Prisoner, traveler, man or elf, it matters not. No one deserves a life forever of gold.” Bilbo thought that in his anger, Thorin might throw his cup, but instead, the dwarf just tipped back his head and downed all the tea in one quick swing as if it was ale. “The gold curse on it's own is a horrible plight, but with the addition of the dragon sickness, it becomes a dangerous force that can not be reasoned with and my grandfather payed the price for both.”

 

“And there is no cure?” Bilbo blurted out. Immediately he wished he had held his tongue. So much for staying still and silent.

 

Smiling ruefully, Bilbo's outburst did not deter Thorin from answering. “No,” He said simply. “We searched through all text we could find for anything that could do away with the curse, but no such thing was ever found.” Thorin hesitated, as if to contemplate whether or not he should divulge something. Finally with some moments of pensive silence, Thorin said quietly, “When my siblings and I were not yet grown, we used to believe that a kiss from our One would break the curse. However, this was but a juvenile dream to help us sleep at night.”

 

Bilbo could not help but imagine a tiny Thorin, barely tall enough to reach the tables and scarcely a beard on his face, dreaming of magical love as children do. However, he was quickly drawn from his musings as something had begun to bother him. “But if it was your grandfather who possessed the gold curse, how is it that you have it?”

 

“That too, is a mystery we have not yet discovered the answer to. For when my father was older, my siblings and I already born into this world, he one day turned a goat to solid gold with but a touch of his hand. It appeared that although my father had already been living at the time my grandfather obtained his curse, it had somehow passed on to him. My brother, sister and I all hoped that the curse would not come upon us too, but our desires were yet again those of foolish children.” There was an air of bitterness to his words and Bilbo was sure Thorin was going to stop. However, the story continued on. “My brother, Frerin,” There was a slight stop at the name, as if the word had not tread upon Thorin's tongue for quite some time. Bilbo knew there to be an entire different story hidden in that name alone, but he also knew that the story was not one to be told then. “The curse showed in him first when he had yet to even marry. It destroyed him that with it's onset he could never have the children he had always longed for.”

 

Before, Bilbo had enjoyed the quiet of the house. Now it seemed oppressive and heavy in the moments between words.

 

“My sister Dís was luckier. The gold curse surfaced when she had already birthed both Fíli and Kíli.”

 

“Do they . . .” Bilbo started. “Well are they-”

 

“No,” Thorin finished for him. “As of yet they have not shown the gold curse. Still, my sister-sons do not touch anything of life in fear that it will finally come for them.”

 

Bilbo could not imagine a fate such as this and he did not want to. For never being able to touch another was a life the hobbit could not live, a life he would wish upon no one.

 

“This is why I acted the way I did during our journey.” Thorin explained, looking guilty as he did so. “I could not have such a lofty burden bearing down upon my conscious if it was to be my own hand which caused your demise. I see now that my actions were cruel and I hope you can forgive me Master Baggins.”

 

Smiling, the urge to touch Thorin resurged in Bilbo. With restraint, he stopped himself. “Of course I forgive you. Trying to stop me from dying was a noble thing in itself, even if the means you went through to achieve that did seem . . .” Bilbo trailed off, not particularly wanting to say some of the choice words he had used during their journey thus far to describe Thorin Oakensheild. In truth, Bilbo did wish that Thorin had explained to him earlier why there had to be distance between them, but he also could not blame him for keeping the gold curse secret. Although Bilbo had hurt over Thorin's words, it could hurt no more than living a life devoid of the press of another's skin. “Oh and Thorin, before I forget,” Bilbo quickly added. “We are friends, are we not?”

 

Thorin smiled and the room seemed to become much warmer. “Of course, I would be honored to call you my friend, Master Baggins.”

 

“Well then as my friend, I hope you can also call me Bilbo. No need for any 'masters' and such.”

 

Thorin smiled. “Of course, Bilbo.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Although the houses of Laketown were small in size, there was still enough space for Bilbo and Thorin to spend some time alone without the threat of other's wandering by.

 

“Oh, Thorin, come over here. I want to show you something.”

 

Walking over to where Bilbo sat, Thorin had a wide grin plastered on his face that certainly did not make Bilbo's heart flutter. No. Most certainly not. Silly idea really.

 

If Bilbo was to be truthful, he would admit that in the time between the Carrock and the present, his feelings for Thorin had grown to proportions he dare not say out loud. Although Thorin could still be stubborn and secretive, Bilbo had learned to take Thorin for what he was. For even with these traits, the dwarf was still loyal and loving and brave and could be made to blush at the slightest provocation. On top of it all, he carried a burden many, including Bilbo himself, could not bear. Despite living a life where affection had to be restrained, when Thorin loved he loved with his whole being and Bilbo was shy to admit that he had been ensnared by him. The hobbit was hopeful that Thorin returned his affections, but he could not be sure.

 

Once Thorin was sat down next to him, so close that their shoulders were just shy of touching, Bilbo pulled out a set of gloves from his pocket.

 

Thorin looked at the gloves, then picked one up in his own gloved hand. “They're very nice,” He paused. “Although they are a bit small, are they not?”

 

Chuckling, Bilbo took the glove back. “Never said they were for you, did I?”

 

The blush that sprang up on Thorin's face was just too precious. “The ways of hobbits are mysterious and confusing,” He mumbled out, turning his face away from Bilbo.

 

The dwarf only looked back when Bilbo began to speak. “I know you don't like touching anyone even with your gloves incase they got a hole in them or something and then, well, you know . . . So I got these,” Now it was Bilbo who refused to look at Thorin as he slipped the gloves onto his own hands. “So if for some reason, we have touch . . . Like, in an emergency . . .” Bilbo was stumbling over his words and blushing like nothing else. So with naught else to do, he reached out and grabbed Thorin's hand. “Well, now we have my gloves and your gloves for protection.”

 

As they sat alone holding hands, the mighty Thorin Oakensheild went red from the tips of his ears to below the collar of his tunic. “Yes, we do . . .”

 

It was silent for just a moment before Thorin coughed awkwardly and let go of Bilbo's hand. Even with the loss of contact, his face was still bright red. “So, what are your plans for once we reclaim the mountain?” Thorin asked, seemingly trying to hide his awkwardness. It did not work.

 

“Well,” Bilbo started, swinging his legs slightly as he thought. “I'm not really sure, to be honest. Truthfully, I fear that I'll have a right hard time adjusting to life back in the Shire after everything we've been through.” He chuckled. “It would definitely be less a threat to my life if I was to go back home and see no more adventures till the end of my days. It can certainly be said that fending off my cousin will be nothing compared to fighting orcs and trolls.”

 

Thorin almost seemed disappointed when he asked, “So you intend to go back to your home?”

 

Bilbo blushed and thought to himself how he was really going to need to get that under control, it was getting ridiculous. “Not necessarily. I mean, I could possibly stay somewhere around here.” Bilbo felt the urge to stop, but he had already gone to far to do so. “Erebor, perhaps. That is to say if you didn't mind. For I most certainly would not want to be seen as a burden and if the desire was mutual and . . .” He was rambling again and Bilbo knew it, so he just shut his mouth and let the words unsaid hang in the air like un-popped bubbles.

 

The feeling of Thorin's hand wrapped around his own made Bilbo stutter. “If you so wish, the doors of Erebor will forever be open to you,” Thorin said, not letting go of Bilbo's hand. There was an unspoken offer lying hidden underneath his words that Bilbo was too afraid to inquire about. However, the meaning was clear all the same and the hobbit smiled.

 

Sitting there with Thorin, Bilbo could not see how their happiness could ever possibly go down. The dragon was surely dead inside the mountain, for there was no way it could have survived without food and water after all that time. Bilbo would simply go into the mountain on the approaching Durin's day, retrieve the arkenstone and be done with it. Then, if he allowed himself to dream, Bilbo would remain in the mountain surrounded by the friends he had come to make and the love he had secretly given his heart to.

 

He did believe the worst was behind them.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The dragon was not dead.

 

Smaug was in fact, very much alive, very angry and was not in any way slowed by the fact that he had not eaten or drank in a few decades. If anything this fact spurred him to be faster.

 

On top of the very much alive dragon, Bilbo was also held back from completing his mission over the fact that the treasury was not so much a small room where the wealth was kept in neat organized rows, but a gigantic sea where coins and goblets crested in huge waves of gold. Really, the dwarves made it seem like he could just pop in there, pick out the arkenstone from the mountains of gold which hid an entire dragon and be on his merry way like he was picking up vegetables from the local market. This was not a job for a burglar but an elf, for only their eyes could have possibly seen the arkenstone among the mess. For pity's sake, no one even told Bilbo what the arkenstone looked like besides that it glowed and “he would know it when he saw it”. As Bilbo did not think he was ever going to see the arkenstone among the chaos, this complicated things a bit.

 

While Smaug taunted him, speaking in a low growl of how Thorin cared not for the hobbit, how the arkenstone would drive the dwarf king mad, Bilbo actually did spy the very same stone, or at least what he thought was the arkenstone, in the pools of gold. If there was more than one glowing stone under the mountain, Bilbo was going to get up and leave because he was not dealing with that nonsense.

 

As he ran, Bilbo spotted something from the corner of his eye that would have made him stop cold if not for the dragon behind him. Reaching up from the sea of coins, like a man drowning in the waves, was a perfect golden head gasping at the surface. Even though Bilbo only caught a glimpse of it, he knew that there was no way any crafter could have gotten so much fine detail in a statue such as the one before him. The stories were true.

 

However, the golden dwarf got pushed without ceremony to the back of Bilbo's mind for there was running, and more running, and hiding and a moment with Thorin that Bilbo tried not to think about. Thorin was not really going to make Bilbo go back in there to face Smaug just for the sake of the arkenstone, was he? There must have been some sort of misunderstanding, for the dragon could not have been correct in saying that the dwarf cared more for the arkenstone than for Bilbo, it just could not be.

 

As the entire company, minus Gandalf for he was off smoking pipe-weed for all they knew, ran around the innards of Erebor trying to avoid and kill a dragon at the same time, Bilbo wasn't quite sure that there was a plan. It did seem that there were the faint whispers of a plan, for the dwarves were heating up the forges with a fearsome urgency and he was told to pull some sort of lever. However, Bilbo had not the faintest idea of what all this was going to accomplish.

 

If Bilbo had to pinpoint the moment when he fully realized what the plan was, it would have to be when the stone cracked off the giant golden dwarf. If he also had to pinpoint the moment when he realized that the plan had failed, it would have been in the few moments of silence as Smaug was engulfed in gold, for there was no way things were going to be that easy.

 

Unfortunately, he was right.

 

They watched in horrified awe as Smaug shed the gold from his wings and flew off into the bleakness of the sky towards Laketown.

 

“He will be back,” Thorin said as he looked out towards the wooden town. “Smaug's nature will cause him to not leave his hoard alone for long. He will set fire to the town, come back to kill us all and then finish what he started in Laketown.”

 

Bilbo's breath stuttered. “We have do something.”

 

It was Dwalin who replied, “What is there to do? We have no black arrows to pierce the beast's hide. We have run out of options.”

 

Refusing to believe that, Bilbo turned once more to Thorin. “What if you were to touch him?”

 

At the question, the rest of the company turned to stare at their King. In the distance the flames of Smaug had begun to smear the town in a blur of gold and red and pain and death.

 

“Never has a creature so large been brought down with the aid of the gold curse,” Thorin paused and cast his gaze across the lake. “I am not sure it would work.”

 

Bilbo stared up at Thorin, eyes wide. “We have to try.”

 

So it was not long later, when the town was bright with flames and loud with cries, did Smaug return to the mountain on the strokes of wings as black as storms. “Now,” Smaug began, his voice like the rolling thunder of sunless skies. “Do you see what becomes of those who dare challenge me?” With a heavy thud, the dragon landed on the barren ground just below an outcrop of stone where nine of the company stood with their weapons. “Once your burnt corpses litter the ground, I shall go back to Laketown to assure that every man, woman and child perishes on that pitiful lake.”

 

Bilbo tried not to let his hands shake as Smaug's golden eyes roamed over the company and his chest began to glow in a terrible light. Without warning, the light stopped. Cocking his head side not unlike a bird, Smaug looked closer at the nine of them. “Where has the dwarf king run too? Does Thorin hide like the coward he is?”

 

Smaug made no indication that he registered the noise of footsteps approaching him until Thorin came into sight from behind a pillar. He brandished no weapons and charged Smaug the Terrible with only his bare hands. Leaping off the towers of stone, Thorin arched through the air right to where Smaug waited. Bilbo held his breath and prayed to anyone who would listen that Thorin would not miss his mark.

 

By some remarkable luck, Thorin landed on the back of the dragon with only a slight fumble. He raised his hands towards the darkened sky and cried out, “May death find you!” With no more hesitation, Thorin laid his hands upon Smaug's scales.

 

Thorin waited.

 

The company waited.

 

Even the lonely mountain seemed to hold it's eternal breath in wait.

 

Smaug laughed, a deep and terrible sound. “Do you think that your petty magic could end me?” With a whip of his head and a smash of his tail, Smaug tried to dislodge Thorin from his mount upon the dragon's hide. Thorin just held on tighter. “I shall not be brought down by a creature as lowly as a dwarf. You shall die and I-”

 

There was a hesitation, a pause. In the gloom of the first moon of winter, Bilbo saw it; Smaug had begun to turn to gold.

 

The hobbit was not the only one to see this, for the rest of the dwarves began to cheer a victorious holler. Smaug just bellowed into the night. “No!” He screamed out, twisting his head, for no longer could he move his legs. “I am the mighty Smaug!” With a great burst, he began to spew fire from his flailing mouth. The flames whirled around like the branches of trees caught in a hurricane. However, soon his chest too had turned to gold and the hearth in Smaug's belly extinguished for the last time. With one final roar and a flap of his great wings, the dragon stretched his neck up towards the sky and then finally fell into silence.

 

Outside the gates to Erebor, the terror of the Lonely Mountain stood frozen in the same metal he so coveted.

 

Smaug was finally dead.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Bilbo had imagined the days following the destruction of Smaug to be one's of celebration, growth and relief. Never had he imagined to be living in the nightmare he was now in.

 

“Thorin,” Bilbo said quietly, for the high ceilings of the treasuries made one's voice echo and boom. “Thorin you need to eat. You haven't had anything in two days.”

 

Turning towards him with a sweep on the heavy cape he had adorned, the king under the mountain smiled at him. “Look at it Bilbo. Gaze upon the might of the dwarves.” Thorin's voice grew in the cavernous halls and he spread his arms wide. “This is the legacy of my people. This is the life we were supposed to live, not some petty existence serving the squalor of men.”

 

Bilbo sighed and his heart grew heavy. Around them, the rest of the dwarves sieved through the mounds of gold for the arkenstone. When it was brought up that their time might be better spent searching for Fíli, Kíli, Bofur and Óin in the remnants of Laketown, Thorin seemed to grow more paranoid and told them all to double their searches, everyone but Bilbo. He had asked if Thorin wanted his aid in searching, but the dwarf had just smiled at him, commented on the kindness of hobbits and told him that he need not tire himself with searching.

 

Thorin had changed and not in the ways Bilbo had thought he might. Before, the hobbit had thought that once the Lonely Mountain was reclaimed, Thorin would be able to shed some of his weariness, some of his pain. He hoped that he dwarf which played the harp and smiled at the smallest things could be coaxed forward. However, the exact opposite had happened.

 

“Look at this!”

 

At the exclamation of Ori, Thorin rushed over to where the dwarves were huddled together. “What is it? Is it the arkenstone?”

 

However, the weight in Bilbo's pocket told him already that whatever Ori had found was most certainly not the arkenstone. Once the hobbit had made his way over, he saw what had gained everyone's attention and gasped.

 

It was one of the golden statues, this one differing from the statue Bilbo had seen earlier for this one seemed to be of the stock of elves, not dwarves. The expression on the poor elves' face was one of shock, their hands thrown up to shield themselves. Bilbo had to wonder if they had known what was coming, and whether or not seeing the approaching death would be better or worse.

 

He expected Thorin to show some sympathy at the plight of the elf forever frozen, the same sort of pity Bilbo had seen back in Beorn's house. However, the booming laugh that echoed cruelly around the hoard spoke of a different tale. “The elf probably deserved it.” Thorin commented as he kicked the statue with the steel toe of his boot. Everyone heard the resulting clang and all but Thorin flinched at it's sound. “I would send it to that spineless elf king for a laugh if I thought he deserved even an ounce of our gold.”

 

Bilbo said nothing, only stared. He hadn't realized that Thorin was that far gone. He had hoped that with time, Thorin would return to his former self, that drastic measures would not have to be taken. However, Bilbo knew for certain what had to be done when only a day later, Thorin refused the plea of the men against his own word. Even though the men of Laketown had saved his own sister-sons, Thorin would not part with a single piece of the gold. He was going to bring war upon the lonely mountain.

 

It was then decided, if Bilbo had to go behind Thorin's back to restore peace, then so be it.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The armies were lined up outside the entrance to the lonely mountain like pieces moved into the final formation on a chess board, their swords and bows readied at their sides. At the front, King Thranduil and the new King Bard waited on elk and horse as the shadow of Smaug's golden body fell upon them. In the mounting tension, Bilbo idly noticed that the elven King refused to glance upon the statue, a miniscule detail really just to distract the hobbit of what was to come.

 

He had hoped that blood would not have to be shed. Thorin would surely give both men and elves what they wanted if the arkenstone was on the line, Bilbo thought.

 

Except, Thorin did not believe the stone in Bard's hand to be genuine. War was about to come and although Thorin might of had hope in the might of thirteen dwarves and a hobbit against two armies, Bilbo did not. They were going to die if something was not done.

 

So he did what he had to.

 

“Thorin,” Bilbo said softly. “It's the real stone. I know, because I gave it to them.”

 

The hurt in Thorin's eye's seemed to bleed out into the pools of deep blue, but Bilbo did not back down.

 

As he tried explaining, tried to force reason upon Thorin, the King's eyes grew cold. The dwarf Bilbo was looking at was not the same dwarf he had once known. Although it seemed at times Thorin was still there, like when Bilbo showed him the acorn, the dragon sickness had overwhelmed him. Even so, it filled the hobbit with great shock when he heard Thorin cry out, “Throw him from the battlement!”

 

No one moved, not even the armies below them. A glance towards the ground showed that the two kings were looking at each other in confusion. Not even they believed Thorin would give an order such as this.

 

Bilbo prided himself on his attentiveness. He had noticed immediately when Thorin moved the first muscle to advance towards him and it had taken him no less than five seconds to figure out that Thorin was completely serious about his order for the hobbit to be removed from Erebor by any means. So he felt rather cross with himself when he didn't see what was coming until it was leagues to late.

 

Thorin surged forward and grabbed onto the lapels of Bilbo's coat, pushing him towards the edge of the battlement as he did. The other dwarves yelled and tried to pull their king from the hobbit, but to no avail.

 

From below, Gandalf yelled up to Thorin to release Bilbo at once. However, there was no need. The edges of Bilbo's coat were released from Thorin's hands as if the material was hotter than the forges of Erebor.

 

For standing before Thorin, was Bilbo looking up at him in shock and horror and fear. His eyes gleamed and it was then Thorin realized what he had done.

 

Bilbo had been turned to gold.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The scream that echoed on the lonely mountain would be spoken of for years to come.

 

Lurching forward, Thorin grasped at Bilbo's face, shaking the golden statue as if trying to shed the metal that encased the hobbit. “Bilbo! Bilbo, no!” Thorin cried out, his voice choked with anguish and despair. “I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!” He looked down at the gloves which were supposed to protect those around him and saw only bare flesh.

 

He had forgotten to put his gloves on.

 

He had taken off his gloves in the treasury and now Bilbo was dead for it.

 

Around him, some dwarves looked on with shock, other's hid their eyes and the grief filled tears which fell from them.

 

Thorin looked down at the armies below and saw the silent masses of elves and men gazing up at him in stupor. Among them was Gandalf, his mouth wide and eyes unreadable.

 

“Gandalf,” Thorin screamed with all his might, his voice breaking. “Save him! Use your magic and save him. Do what you must, just save him!”

 

However, Gandalf made no move to come up and wake Bilbo from his golden sleep.

 

“I cannot.”

 

Thorin's breaths became erratic and he once again looked upon the anguished face of Bilbo Baggins. He looked so afraid and Thorin's heart broke and scattered to the winds at the thought that it had been he to cause this. Never again would Bilbo smile and never again would he blush. No longer could Bilbo read his beloved books or sit in his armchair. Forever, Bilbo would be forced to remain terrified and still and it was all Thorin's fault.

 

Through his blinding grief, Thorin reached out and ran a gentle hand over Bilbo's cheek, caring not that elves, men and dwarves all looked on. Oh, what he would have given for the skin underneath his palm to be warm with glowing life, not cold and metallic.

 

To his dying days Thorin would never be able to recall what made him think of the old fable he and siblings would tell to each other, as in those moments he could barely form a thought that was not of Bilbo. However, the old stories of a kiss from your One breaking curses battered against his skull. Against better judgment, Thorin let himself hope.

 

Right there on the battlement where hundreds of warriors had stood before him and hundreds of warriors stood before him now, Thorin Oakensheild, king under the mountain, closed his eyes, leaned in and laid a gentle kiss to Bilbo's golden lips.

 

The sight that stood before him when he opened his eyes would not be a sight Thorin would soon forget. For in front of him, looking up into Thorin's eyes was Bilbo.

 

He was still made of gold.

 

It had not worked.

 

Thorin's vision blurred and he sank to his knees, clutching at Bilbo's golden legs.

 

From somewhere behind Thorin, a voice was calling to him. “Laddie,” Balin said, putting a hand on Thorin's heaving shoulder as he spoke. “Thorin, this is no place for grieving.” Despite his attempts to remain calm, Thorin could hear the hitch in the old dwarf's words. “The men and elves will not wait for your suffering to pass. They will soon attack the mountain for what they desire.”

 

With a sharp jerk of his head, Thorin looked up at Balin. He stood up, gazed out into the rows upon rows of warriors and then made a quick turn towards the door. If it was jewels they desired, then jewels would receive.

 

“Thorin?” Several of the dwarves called out. “Thorin where are you going.”

 

If Thorin heard them though his grief he pretended not to. Not long had passed before Thorin returned, his hands hidden and also filled with something none of the dwarves could see. Walking towards the battlement, Thorin paused just short of the ledge. He met eyes with Bard and Thranduil, then with no warning he took the gold and jewels in his hands and flung them into the sky

 

“Take them!” He screamed as gold fell like rain at the feet of the waiting armies. If agony had not consumed his being, Thorin might have laughed when one coin hit Thranduil on the head. However, he just felt numb. “Take it all! Have your gold and jewelry, I do not care!” Even once the final coin had rolled to a stop, no one moved to pick up a single piece.

 

Then in his final act, Thorin took the crown from atop his head and threw it to the ground, caring not to see where it landed. The clang of the metal echoed hollowly against the stone and rang out high and true for all to hear. 

 

There was nothing else to do. The recompense had been given. The mountain had been reclaimed. Bilbo was no more. What was he to do now? With a lethargic turn, Thorin began retreating back into the mountain. Where he would go once inside, he did not know. Never again could he lay his eyes upon the gold of the treasuries and he would not dare go back to his room to sleep, for it seemed too normal an action after what he had just done. Maybe he would just wander the halls of Erebor til death, he thought, where he would never forgive and never forget.

 

He had almost made it to the door when something on the ground caught his eye, something so small that he really should not have been able to spy it all. Bending down in silence, Thorin curled his fingers around the object and let his palm hide it from sight. Then, standing up as if he had never stopped at all, Thorin continued on into the darkened halls, paying no heed to the armies that stood behind him.

 

It was only much later when he was hidden far in the depths of his ancestors halls did Thorin look down at the object in his hand. Clutching it to his chest, Thorin Oakensheild cried for the first time in many years.

 

In the dwarfs palm lay a single acorn.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

After the battle of the five armies, Erebor slowly began to return to it's former self. Ignoring the stench of dragon that clung to the air, most things remained the same from the time before Smaug. The forges once again heated Erebor, the clans of dwarfs returned to the mountain and the hustle and bustle of life began on it's quick pace once more. Even the last reminder of Smaug, the golden statue that once stood like a warning outside the Lonely Mountain, had been removed. Whether it had been melted down or hidden away deep within the mountain was a constant source of gossip for both the citizens of Erebor and the neighboring lands.

 

There was one thing, however, that had changed. Before, there had never been need or desire for any type of garden, not for food and certainly not for flowers. Yet, just outside the gates of Erebor, tucked away into a corner where sun and rain could still reach, but intruders could not, lay a garden. In the garden, many flowers flourished and their wondrous colors were a stark comparison to the grey rock of the mountain. Although this alcove of flora was a beautiful sight, none but the King and those who had travelled with him on the quest for Erebor were allowed near. Even so, it was only Thorin who walked amongst the flowers every day, the others only visiting on occasion. Rumors circulated in hushed whispers of why King Thorin cared for the garden at all when it was among popular belief in the Lonely mountain that the veins of gold and hidden gems in the mines were far lovelier than some frail flowers. However, it was also among popular belief that King Thorin was an odd king indeed. For what kind of dwarf refused to adorn themselves with even a fleck of gold, honestly?

 

It became common pastime for the residents of the Lonely mountain to guess at what lay hidden in the heart of the garden among the flowers. Some said that at the garden's core was the arkenstone, for it no longer rested above the throne. Other's said it was Smaug's head that lay in the garden and that every day Thorin would visit if only to taunt the felled beast.

 

However, those closest to the King knew the truth.

 

At the center of the garden, past roses of dark crimson, sweet pea’s whose scent had no rival and such a number of purple hyacinths that they nearly overran the land, was an oak tree. Or more accurately, the beginnings of one, for it's trunk was but a twig and it's leaves were small and many had yet to even unfurl. Next to the sapling, in a position so that when the oak was towering and strong it would shield it from harm was a golden statue.

 

It would surely be an odd sight for the citizens of Erebor to see their King conversing with a statue everyday as if it lived. However, Thorin minded not how other's would think of him. Without fail whenever his moments were free, he went into the garden, tended to the flowers and made sure that Bilbo never became sullied with dirt. Once, before the garden had been constructed, someone had suggested that they bury Bilbo in a proper funeral. Thorin had said no without hesitation, for he could not bear the thought of the hobbit being locked away under rock and soil never to see the light again. Also, if he still had some hope that one day Bilbo would be freed from his curse, Thorin did not speak so aloud.

 

As the days past and the oak tree grew, Thorin would sometimes sit underneath the tree, close his eyes, and pretend that next to him was Bilbo, alive and well. They would hold hands and Thorin would press small kisses to the hobbit's forehead in order to draw out the faint blushes and quiet laughter he so loved. They would be happy and no gold curse would ever stand between them. They would live the life they were supposed to live.

 

For Thorin, opening his eyes to see that none of it was real was always the hardest part.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am a horrible person and yes that was a cliched ending, I know.   
> When I first heard the song Gold by imagine dragons, this fic sprung into my mind and it would not go away. I got the title from the story of King Midas and how he was told to go bathe in a particular river to get rid of his gold curse.   
> I really hoped everyone enjoyed my fic and I thank you all for reading. :)


End file.
